Color Me Pretty

finger the soft fabric, but say nothing. Emmett already knows how I feel about all of this. I told him today, but he just smiled through it. I don't think there's much I can do to change his mind, and to tell you the truth, I don't really want to. I'm used to having things taken care of for me – my parents have been doing it my entire life. And yes, I need to stand up on my own two feet and move forward, but I don't know if I can handle recovery and newfound independence at the same time.
    “For going with me, even though you probably don't want to.” Emmett pauses as he grabs his jacket from the back of the couch. God. He's so infuriating. The man is freaking gorgeous, and he has no idea, not a clue. He could be a male model in a second. The lines of his face are perfect – manly but not barbaric. His eyes are soft but sultry, and his body is rock hard. He smells good and he isn't covered in fur. Yeah, he's got a bit of hair on his chest, a little trail on his belly, but he isn't related to Cousin Itt, if you catch my drift. I stare at him as he glances over his shoulder at me, all innocent like.
    “You're an ass,” I tell him, purposely ignoring his previous comment. No, I don't want to go to a restaurant. If I had to think up my own levels of hell, going to a restaurant would definitely be listed as one of them. All of those items listed but no calorie counts … complex dishes without any idea what ingredients are in them … people staring, watching you eat, judging you. I shiver.
    Emmett looks perplexed.
    “Am I?” he says, seriously asking a question. It's my turn to take his face between my hands and kiss him hard. This ends the conversation. “I hope the tree house is alright,” he says as we walk out the front door and pause on the porch, eyes fixated on the rain that falls in a seemingly endless stream from the sky. Eventually, it will clear and the sun will shine. Eventually. I keep this bit of information tucked away for later. Things are going well now, but they could change. Something bad could happen tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. That's why Emmett's way of life makes so much sense to me. He exists happily in the here and now.
    I glance over at him and wonder if this meeting with his father will awaken anything dormant inside of him, if that pain will rear up and take over. God, I hope not. If this dinner is anything, I hope it's a lesson for me on how to handle things.
    “You're brave,” I tell him, but he just laughs.
    “I don't know about that. I think maybe that I'm just an environmentalist who drives a sports car.” I slap him on the arm, but when I go to pull my fingers away, they curl around his bicep and I end up with my head pressed into Emmett's shoulder.
    My mood is up and down which is understandable but frustrating. What are you supposed to do when you want to be happy, but all you can be is sad? My stomach gurgles and I cross my arm over it to silence the noise. If Emmett hears it over the soft simmer of the rain, he doesn't let on. I wonder what would happen if I ate more. Would my mood remain more stable? I might have to try, just to find out.
    “I think you're selling yourself short,” I tell him, wishing I was half as stable as he is. Emmett Sinclair is like a rock at the edge of the shore, and I am the waves that crash over and around it, desperate to be a part of something different but unable to make the change. Yup. That's me. “If you weren't as strong as you are, you'd have walked away from me already. And I wouldn't have blamed you.”
    “Claire Simone,” he says, and at first he tries to play around with me, to make it a joke, but he can't and his face gets all serious. “It would be a lot harder to walk away from you than you think. Now who's selling herself short?”
    “But my friends,” I begin. “My family … ” My argument's over before it even started. I want to scream out a list of names, call upon all the people that have abandoned me, but none of them have, not a single one. See, that's the pain talking, just that little, round circle of pain.
    “Leanne and Jenn came to the hospital, you know? Did your family tell you that?” I look up at Emmett and watch his face. He brushes hair from my eyes, and smiles down at me. I don't have to answer that question; he knows. My family didn't bother to mention that, even though it would've meant a lot to me. They think they care about me, but right now, they're all using that love and